shut," said the gruff voice of the gatekeeper. "Can't let any
through while morning."

"Darnell, you'll let me through!" pleaded Elizabeth. "I'm servant to
Master Clere, clothier, of Balcon Lane, and I'm sent with a message of
grave import to the mill."

"Tell Master Clere, if he wants his corn ground, he must send by
daylight."

And the wooden shutter was flung to. Elizabeth stood for an instant as
if dazed.

"I can't get to them," she said to herself. "There's no chance that
way. I must go to Tenant's Lane."

She turned away from the gate, and went round by the wall to the top of
Tenant's Lane.

"Pray God I be in time to warn somebody! We are all in danger, we who
were at the preaching to-night, and Mistress Wade most of all, for it
was in her house. I'll go to the King's Head ere I go home."

Thus thinking, Elizabeth reached Mrs Silverside's, and rapped at the
door. Once--twice--thrice--four times. Not a sound came from inside,
and she was at last sorrowfully compelled to conclude that nobody was at
home. Down the lane she went, and came out into High Street at the
bottom.

"Then I can only warn Mistress Wade. I dare be bound she'll let the
others know, as soon as morning breaks. I do trust that will be time
enough."

She picked her way across High Street, and had just reached the opposite
side, when her arm was caught as if in an iron vice, and she felt
herself held fast by greater strength than her own.

"Hussy, what goest thou about?" said the stern voice of her master,
Nicholas Clere.

CHAPTER FOURTEEN.

STOPPED ON THE WAY.

Nicholas Clere was a man of one idea at once; and people of that sort do
a great deal of good when they get hold of the right idea, and a great
deal of harm when a wrong idea gets hold of them. Once let notion get
into the head of Nicholas, and no reasoning nor persuasion would drive
it out. He made no allowances and permitted no excuses. If a thing
looked wrong, then wrong it must be, and it was of no use to talk to him
about it. That he should have found Elizabeth, who had been ordered to
come home at eight o'clock, running in the opposite direction at
half-past eight, was in his eyes an enormity which admitted of no
explanations. That she either had been in mischief, or was then on her
way to it, were the only two alternatives possible to the mind of her
master.

And circumstances were especially awkward for Elizabeth, since she could
not give any